


Cuffed

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, kind of cracky, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is a DI for Scotland Yard. He works with all sorts and is surprised one night when he receives an unanticipated text message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuffed

**Author's Note:**

> Some lovely ladies had an itch I tried to scratch. I hope I did.

 Greg heard his mobile chirping in his coat pocket. Groaning he dragged it out to check the text. Greg was exhausted and wanted something to eat and then his bed. He needed a change of clothes after a drunk had gotten sick on him. He’d washed at the Yard but all he’d had to change into were his gym clothes, thankfully still laundry fresh. Greg didn’t have time to exercise, not that he needed to, he ran around enough for work. He had been on his way home after a particularly long day, not really looking forward to the cold crummy flat he now lived alone in but also not willing to spend another minute down at The Yard. His eyes widened and he stopped trying to unlock his front door.

 “I require your assistance. Please bring handcuff keys – MH”

 Greg shook his head and checked the text again. It had definitely come from Mycroft Holmes. Why would Mycroft Holmes need Greg Lestrade at eleven at night with handcuff keys?

 “It is urgent, please come to my home as soon as possible. – MH”

 Greg sighed and tapped back a response. With all the times he’d had to pick Sherlock out of the gutter and go tell his family Greg was very familiar with Mycroft’s townhouse location. “On my way, have keys.”

 What the hell was Mycroft up to now? Lestrade was really not interested in being handed some new criminal, not after eighteen hours on the job with nothing more than one stale sandwich and coffee by the pot and not cup to sustain him. Climbing into his panda Greg hit the lights and raced across London to a neighborhood he now knew well. If Mycroft had sent for him so late at night it had to be urgent.

 As he walked up the steps another text arrived, “Can’t come to door, lock code is 112358.” Greg muttered and slowly tapped in the code. The door unclicked and he pushed his way inside. Mycroft’s house was dark so Greg flicked on the light panel that was right beside the door. He was fairly familiar with the entryway at least and could make his way to Mycroft’s den but that was as far as he’d ever ventured. Another text arrived, “Upstairs, third door to your right. Please hurry. Is urgent.”

 Greg grew very concerned. Why hadn’t Mycroft made it to his own door? He wished for a second that coppers carried guns in England but they didn’t so he made his way up the dark staircase as silently as he could. Taking a deep breath Greg paused outside the door he’d been looking for and opened it.

 “Um.”

 “Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, how good of you to respond.” The tall, normally very dignified and ALWAYS poshly dressed Mycroft Holmes was lying in bed, covered to his neck with his blanket, but his face was scarlet. His normally carefully combed hair was ruffled and Greg saw that curls blessed the heads of both Holmes brothers. Mycroft was fucking beautiful. Stunned at what his inner voice had just said Greg almost didn’t hear Mycroft speak, “Please, allow me to explain.”

 “Your brother handcuffed you to the bed while you were sleeping and you didn’t know who to call that could get you out without telling the world.” said Greg without prompting.

 If anything Mycroft’s face grew redder. “Please, Detective Inspector, I’ve been trapped here since this morning and _I_ _very urgently_ need to get out of bed.” Urgently? Why…oh….oh…OH!

 “Right, let’s get you out of those then.” Greg dug out his keys, noting with some embarrassment that his cuffs were missing from their holster, “So…I think these are mine.”

 “They are. Sherlock was kind enough to detail how he stole them from you specifically to, and I quote “ _to_ _punish those who keep me in perpetual boredom_ ”, I do apologise Detective Inspector.”

 “How long is John gone for?” Greg shook his head and carefully undid the cuffs. Mycroft’s wrist was red and almost raw. He’d been trying to get out of them for hours apparently. How long had he had to lay there? Lestrade decided he was going to get Sherlock back somehow, maybe force him to work exclusively with Anderson, or better, take away his all-access pass to the morgue at St. Bart’s. That pass required Lestrade’s signature.

 “John is away at his mother’s until the end of the week. Anthea is away on her annual vacation. My staff is gone this week as well. I had planned on enjoying some quiet time alone. Sherlock had other ideas.” Mycroft’s arm was clearly stiff and sore from being held so awkwardly for so long, “Might I trouble you one more time? I don’t believe I’ll be able to move without some help.”

 Mycroft was bare-naked and had a fairly decent erection going on. He must have needed to pee quite badly. Greg tried not to let himself get distracted by one of the sexiest bodies he’d ever had the pleasure of viewing as he pulled Mycroft’s legs over to the edge of the bed and very carefully helped the groaning man to stand. Mycroft had clearly taken up running, he had a runner’s body now, made up of long lean muscles, “Please, I need to go _right now_!” cried Mycroft in some distress. Greg helped him to the opulent bathroom and could hear Mycroft’s almost ecstatic moan as he relieved himself. Greg wasn’t sure why he was waiting but he couldn’t seem to move. Greg’s penis was interested and he was beginning to think he should just leave before Mycroft made it back out again but he heard a soft voice call, “Please stay.”

 Those fucking Holmes’! Were they telepathic or what? “I really should get back…” The toilet flushed eventually and he could hear Mycroft washing up. The shower went on and Greg still couldn’t move. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he a pervert to stand there listening to another man use the facilities? The shower was brief and Greg suddenly envisioned that long perfect body dripping with water. He almost groaned.

 “Please Detective Inspector, the very least I can do to repay you for the rescue is feed you and offer you something palatable to drink.” Mycroft came out of the bathroom now wearing a very thin robe that concealed practically nothing. Greg could not stop his eyes from trailing all the way down from Mycroft’s eyes to his long elegant feet and back up again. Greg’s body decided to try and attempt a standing ovation at the view. Was it his imagination or did Mycroft pose a bit to let him ogle that racehorse body?

Well it wasn’t his imagination when Mycroft fucking Holmes took Greg’s hand and led him from his bedroom down to his kitchen. Greg feasted his eyes on Mycroft’s behind which was soft, rounded, and very, very tempting. When they arrived Greg was distracted enough not to realize that Mycroft had stopped walking and was turning to speak to Greg face to face. “What would you like to eat?”

 _"You_ !"screamed Greg’s dick, “Oh, anything really. I’m used to eating left-overs quite frankly, though I’m not sure where they come from. I don’t ever seem to have time for hot meals.” Mycroft was still holding his hand and standing only a few inches away. Another few drops of blood in the downstairs department and Greg would be able to reach out and touch Mycroft, hands free.

“I can make an omelet in a trice if you’re interested?” offered Mycroft. Greg nodded, his voice completely gone because Mycroft smelled…so... _good_. “Very well Detective Inspector.”

 “Please, call me Greg.”

 “Gregory. Would you like some wine as well?” Mycroft bent low to fetch out an omelet pan from the very bottom cupboard. It seemed to take him a minute to dig around to find it and Greg didn’t blink for a second as his eyes locked on the rounded _peach_ of a bottom that was wiggling and swaying as Mycroft rooted.

 Greg stood there mute and dry-mouthed as Mycroft Holmes, Mr. British Government, cooked for him. It didn’t take long, Mycroft seemed to have everything prepared and before Greg could get his erection under control Mycroft was bringing it back by reaching up into another cupboard to fetch down plates. His one leg defied the robe’s attempts to cover it and Greg saw it was smoothly shaved and hairless all the way up to Mycroft’s narrow hips, “Oops.” commented Mycroft, flipping the fabric back into place. Greg realized he wasn’t breathing.

 They sat at the small breakfast table, their knees knocking together as they ate in companionable silence. Mycroft had made toast as well with some kind of bread Greg had never tried before. After they were done he felt so comfortable and satisfied he wished he were home so he could stretch out and relax for a while. Instead he smiled right at Mycroft and realized that the taller man’s eyes were just gorgeous and that his mouth had a bit of crumb stuck to the corner.

 Greg wasn’t thinking. He leaned forward, tilted his head a bit and licked the crumb away. Shocked he sat back, his mouth open a bit at stared at Mycroft Holmes who looked equally surprised. “ _Gregory_!”

 “Oh god! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I’m tired. I’m not thinking clearly. I’m sorry! I…I…I’m going now, please don’t assassinate me or have me fired? Please?” Greg pushed himself out of his chair and made for the front door, completely embarrassed and totally flustered. What the _hell_ was wrong with him? That was _Sherlock’s_ brother! Buggery fuck did he taste good!

 Greg nearly ran to the front door but he wasn’t fast enough to beat Mycroft. Greg was caught by the shoulders, spun around and treated to the snogging of his life. Oh hells the sounds that man could make! Greg groaned as Mycroft moaned against his lips, his long body grinding against Greg’s shorter and bulkier frame, “Gregory. Stay.”

 “I have no problem with that.” muttered Greg who came back to himself enough to begin giving back as good as he got. Mycroft’s tongue was pure wickedness but Greg had more than a few tricks to fall back on and soon he had Mycroft melting in his arms. It wasn’t until he felt fingers caressing the hair on his belly that Greg realized Mycroft was peeling him out of his clothes.

 “Gregory.” oh fuck did his name sound sexy moaned out that way. “Gregory I want you to fuck me.” Bloody fucking hell! Did Mycroft Holmes just use the word _fuck_? Greg’s brain blanked out when the hand on his belly slid right into his trousers and onto his very hard cock, “Oh yes.” moaned Mycroft again.

This had to be some kind of dream because Mycroft was on his knees in front of Greg and was undoing his trousers, pulling out his cock and…oh my fucking god in hell Mycroft was sucking him off! Greg groaned so loudly he worried that the neighbors could hear him. Mycroft was making little desperate sounds as his mouth glided up and down Greg’s shaft, “Bed.” was all Greg could manage. Sounding reluctant Mycroft made another small sound and pulled off slowly, almost causing Greg to come right on the spot.

 “Follow me.”

Oh fucking YES! Mycroft was as hard as Greg, his chest as flushed as his face and Greg had never seen anything as sexy as Mycroft Holmes with swollen and spit slicked lips. Once again his eyes locked on that perfectly bouncy and rounded behind which simply sashayed in front of him as Mycroft led Greg right back to his bedroom and shut the door firmly. 

There was no pretence, no coy overtures. Mycroft went on full attack, plundering Greg’s mouth and stripping him of every inch of fabric until they were standing in the middle of the room and just writhing together. “Always thought you were so gorgeous.” muttered Mycroft, a comment which entirely stunned Greg.

“Really?” he said, amazement filling his voice.

“Please Gregory, you’re a handsome man, fit, incredibly striking, and dangerous. Of course I found you attractive.” Mycroft kissed Greg once again, “I’ve fantasized about this more than once.”

Greg made a mental note to thank Sherlock for his little prank as he was literally knocked off his feet and onto Mycroft’s bed. This was incredible. Greg was blown away by the almost avaricious attack on his person. There seemed to be more than one Mycroft who was touching him, stroking him, slicking up his cock and HOLY FUCKING FUCK, “Gregory.” moaned the man who was straddled across Greg’s hips and pushing down. When had he prepared himself? _FUCKING HELL OH MY GOD_! Greg’s mind couldn’t process the heat, the tightness, the wanton quality of Mycroft’s moans. “I like it hard Gregory, very hard.”

Greg had a lot of pent up sexual frustration, what with not getting a leg over in so long because his ex-wife had poisoned the pool with her vicious words, and working so much, and just never having time for more than the occasional pint out with friends and oh fuck…fuck that….fuck everything. That wasn’t important anymore. What was important was the creamy skin that was scattered with constellations of freckles, what was important was the way Mycroft shimmied his hips, what was important was the way Mycroft’s mouth bit and licked marks all over Greg’s chest and even one on his neck, what was important was being taken, completely taken and owned by the sexiest man Greg had ever come across, “ _No one else Gregory_ , I’m taking you for myself.” promised/threatened Mycroft.

That did it. Greg’s groan of release could probably be heard right across London especially when coupled with Mycroft’s shout. Greg could feel the hot warm splat of come on his belly, felt himself pulsing and emptying deep inside Mycroft. Dimly he became aware that Mycroft had fallen forward and was just lying there motionless and almost sobbing as he tried to catch his breath.

They fell asleep which probably wasn’t a good idea because they woke up the next morning handcuffed to the bed together. Sherlock had left a note this time, “Will require therapy. Please set up appointment for me with John’s doctor.”

“That little bastard!” griped Greg as he looked at the cuff. “That’s it, no cases for him till John gets home.”

It took both of them to wrench off the post that connected to the bedframe but once they were free of the bed they were able to get to Greg’s trousers which still contained his keys. “I am cutting Sherlock off from EVERYTHING.” swore Mycroft angrily.

Greg looked at Mycroft who looked back at Greg and both of them laughed. “Well, it wasn’t all for naught was it?”

“No my dear Gregory, it was worth it even if Sherlock did not intend for this to happen.” Mycroft was free and generous with his kisses but they were busy men and soon both their mobiles were ringing, demanding that they start their day. They showered together but Greg only had his gym clothes once again to make his way to work in.

A half hour after he arrived, despite the jeers from his co-workers, Greg was back at his desk and working his way through the mountain of paper that never seemed to grow smaller. A black-suited man showed up with a garment bag and a large white paper bag, simply dropping them off without a word and departing. Greg opened the garment bag. There was a plain but well-made suit inside as well as a clean shirt, socks and pants. Greg read the note, “I intend to spoil you.”

Greg opened the bag. There was a piping hot lunch in there from a very upscale restaurant as well as a large cup of screaming hot coffee so strong you could melt diamonds in it. Perfect. Greg grinned. This was all going to be just perfect and it was only the first day. After dressing and eating Greg was more than prepared for another day of hectic running about, but this time when the CCTV camera’s seemed to follow him he’d just turn his head and wink at them. Why not? His lover deserved a bit of sugar.

 

 


End file.
